Frozen
by Deana
Summary: Wounded and separated from his friends, will Aramis survive until they find him? (Entry for the 3rd Fête des Mousquetaires contest.)


**Frozen**  
A Musketeers Story by Deana  
Entry for the 3rd 'Fête des Mousquetaires' contest

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Aramis had been shot before, quite a few times, actually. He'd been shot in the right shoulder, shot in his left leg, shot in his left arm...and that didn't include the number of times that he'd been grazed by a bullet...both sides, both arms...even his head three times. Of all his limbs, only his right leg had escaped being touched by a ball of lead...and it had escaped _this_ time, too.

Aramis looked to where he had his right hand clamped over his left upper side under his arm. Blood was everywhere, and he wondered how in the world he was breathing, since a bullet entering that part of the body had nowhere to go but into his lung. His breaths were labored from pain and shock, but he felt no liquid filling his lung and was very glad about that, but he was also confused, knowing that he should be currently drowning in his own blood. He wondered next how the bullet had entered the side of his body without hitting his left arm, until he raised the arm and found that _it_ was bleeding too. It took until that instant for the pain to register, and he lowered his arm with a gasp, before trying to shift and finding that the majority of the blood was coming from his arm, not his side...perhaps that was why he wasn't drowning; the bullet never made it as far as his lung because it had gone through his arm first.

Relief swept through Aramis so strongly that the world swirled as dizziness clouded his senses...or was it due to the amount of blood that he was losing? Both, most likely. It suddenly struck him that he was going to lose too much—if he hadn't already—if he continued to lie there concentrating on the wrong wound. Already he was feeling weak and shaky, and he knew that he didn't have much time if he was going to tend to himself and find the others.

Aramis opened his eyes with a jolt, not even realizing that he'd been well on his way to passing out before the thought had come to him. What had happened to Athos and Porthos? The three of them were together when they'd been attacked. Were they lying somewhere too, likewise injured? He had to get to them...they needed him...

Drawing on strength that he didn't have, Aramis managed to half-sit up and spotted his horse standing twenty feet away in the snow. Oh, that's right...it was winter. Aramis suddenly realized that he felt absolutely frozen. His clothes were wet and the white terrain was splattered with blood, filling his mind with images from three years prior in Savoy...

Aramis physically shook his head to eradicate the images from his vision, knowing that he needed to get up and find his friends. Shaking his head made him even dizzier, and he closed his eyes with a wince, before reopening them and whistling to his horse. The sound came out as shaky as his body, but the horse turned its head and plodded over to him.

Aramis sighed with relief, before grabbing his horse's bridle and trying to one-handedly pull his frozen body to his feet. It wasn't easy, but he eventually found himself standing, though his knees wouldn't lock and he had to hold onto the horse for dear life as his brain spun with bloodloss-induced dizziness.

The horse suddenly huffed, bringing Aramis back to the present in time to notice that he'd started sinking to the ground again. He forced his eyes open and blinked, realizing just how cold he was. He wondered how long he'd been lying there in the snow, and he lifted a leg that felt much too heavy and slid his boot into the stirrup before trying to pull himself onto the horse with only one hand. It seemed to take a year, but he was eventually sitting atop the horse, swaying as his vision refused to stay still. He got his horse moving in the direction that he'd come from, before carefully turning his body to grab his pack of supplies. How he managed to do that without falling off the horse he'd never know, but he succeeded and awkwardly tried to wrap a bandage around his arm. He had to use his teeth to help tie it, and he stuck the reins into his left hand and used his right hand to hold a piece of cloth over the wound in his side. He winced from the pain, before suddenly realizing that the bullet was still in there...or somewhere, anyway. He still was not drowning in his own blood, so it was safe to say that it had not punctured his lung. He'd have to wait until he found his friends to deal with it, and he rode through the snow without directing his horse, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of his wounds and shivering as if he were caught in an earthquake.

Aramis' thoughts returned to the incident of the day. Athos, Porthos, and himself had been returning to Paris after delivering a missive from the king and retrieving a reply, but had been ambushed by bandits soon after. Aramis had been tackled from his horse and three men had immediately dove on him and taken the missive before he had a chance to stop them. It was obvious that they knew that Aramis was the one in possession of it, but Athos and Porthos were busy fighting their own foes and didn't see the missive stolen.

Aramis had immediately remounted his horse and gone after the man who had taken it, following his erratic route until they'd ended up in a clearing and Aramis had shot him. He'd retrieved the missive and headed back to his horse, but the man was still alive and had shot at Aramis before he could ride away, leaving Aramis in his current predicament.

Aramis sighed as he rode. He wasn't going as fast as he wanted to, because he was in serious danger of falling off his horse. He'd lost a lot of blood from all three wounds, and the winter cold was extremely taxing to his weakening body. He was shivering so badly that it was annoying his horse, who was walking with its ears swiveled back.

It took a long time to get back to the place where they'd been ambushed, and Aramis was exhausted by then, having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Dead bandits littered the ground, and Aramis was relieved to see that neither Athos nor Porthos were there. They were alive then…but where were they?

Aramis just sat there for a minute, trying to get his sluggish mind to think. His friends weren't there, but they hadn't gone after him or they would've met up along the way. Aramis didn't understand why, and he had difficulty figuring out what to do next…the pain from his wounds combined with the blood loss and extreme cold was affecting his mind. He was sure that he was eventually going to pass out, and he knew that he'd better find his friends quickly, or unconsciousness would spell his doom.

Was it possible that they had continued on to Paris, assuming that Aramis had done the same? With neither of them being here now, that seemed the obvious route that Aramis should now take, considering the fact that he badly needed medical help. He tried to remember if there was an inn along the way, or had they already passed it?

Aramis foolishly shook his head again in an attempt to clear it, making the scenery swirl around him in a sickening pattern. He winced and closed his eyes, leaning forward and letting go of the wound under his arm to grasp the pommel of his saddle. He shivered terribly and couldn't prevent the gasp of discomfort that passed his lips.

His horse apparently got sick of standing there doing nothing and started to walk on its own accord, in the direction of Paris, knowing its way home. Aramis left him to it, hoping that he'd meet up with the others along the way.

The horse plodded along for what felt like hours. Aramis had his eyes permanently closed now, unable to keep them open as he suffered. He was sure that he'd never been this cold before...or had he, once? It was getting harder for Aramis to control his thoughts, and he kept seeing images of the Savoy massacre in his mind. He'd open his eyes expecting to see the bodies, and remember that he wasn't actually there.

Finally, Aramis' body couldn't remain conscious any longer, and he slipped out of his saddle and landed in the snow. He knew that he needed to get up, but he was frozen and his body wouldn't respond. Regret filled him; of being the first to die and leave Athos and Porthos to go on living without him. He wondered how long they would mourn, and prayed that God would help ease their suffering.

Aramis' mind started to drift again, and he suddenly imagined that he could hear his friends calling him. He was glad to hear their voices one more time, and before he lost consciousness, he realized that he was no longer shivering...

Athos and Porthos were very nervous as they looked for their friend. Neither of them had seen him take off after the man who'd stolen the missive, so they'd searched seemingly everywhere, and had finally come upon the dead man that Aramis had shot. The alarming amount of blood nearby that obviously belonged to someone else was enough to cause inward panic in both of them, and they'd tried to follow the trail through the snow, but it had eventually stopped as the victim—who could only be Aramis—either stopped bleeding or had bandaged himself up. They followed the tracks back to where the fight had taken place, and saw that they went off in the direction of Paris.

Quickly, they galloped off again, before eventually spotting something in the distance.

"Aramis?" Porthos shouted.

Athos squinted, making out the horse and a form on the ground. "Aramis!" He echoed the shout, seeing that the form didn't move.

They spurred their horses faster, and Porthos, in the lead, dove off his horse with agility that contradicted his size. He knelt beside Aramis and pulled off his gloves, quickly checking for a pulse as Athos dropped to his knees beside him.

"Well?" Athos said.

"He's frozen, I can't tell!" Porthos exclaimed. He laid his head on his friend's chest instead, listening for a heartbeat.

Athos' hands weren't as big as Porthos'—no one's were—and he was better able to find the weak pulse. "He's alive," he said, with relief.

"But he's barely breathin'!" Porthos told him. He stripped off his cloak and handed it to Athos before he sat Aramis up and pulled their wounded friend's wet cloak off. "How far is the inn?"

Athos sighed, his breath freezing in the air between them as they wrapped the dry cloak around Aramis. "About an hour's ride."

"We better get there quicker," Porthos said. "Or he won't be alive when we reach it!"

Carefully, they lifted their unconscious friend and got him onto Porthos' horse. He held his friend tightly as they rode off as fast as the horses could go. "You better not get any ideas of leavin' this world without us, Aramis," he said to his friend.

Aramis gave no reaction.

They reached the inn in forty minutes and quickly brought Aramis inside. "A room! Now!" Porthos bellowed.

The innkeeper was startled by the urgency, and immediately noticed the musketeer pauldrons on their shoulders. He motioned for them to follow him and he dashed up the stairs, opening a door and letting them inside.

"Send for a doctor," Athos said, as Porthos lay Aramis on the bed.

"There isn't one nearby," said the innkeeper as he lit the fireplace. "He recently died."

"Typical," Porthos muttered, as he started removing their friend's wet clothes.

"Bring up some bricks," Athos commanded.

"There's some in the corner," the innkeeper said, pointing.

Athos went over and grabbed them, throwing them into the fireplace to heat up. "Any hot broth?"

"Yes."

"Bring it up," Athos said.

The innkeeper nodded and left.

Athos had carried up their saddlebags, and he opened Aramis' and took out some dry clothes.

"What the—?" Porthos suddenly exclaimed.

Athos looked to see that Porthos had Aramis' jacket off, and was surprised to see the bloodstain on their friend's shirt. They'd assumed that the only injury was to Aramis' left arm.

Porthos ripped the ruined shirt open, and caught his breath at the sight of the gunshot wound high up the left side of Aramis' body. "It went through his arm, and…" he could hardly say it.

Athos stared in shock, realizing that the bullet had to have gone into Aramis' lung. Before he could say anything, he looked closer at the wound, and a wave of relief swept over him. "I can see the ball."

Porthos blinked and crouched beside the bed, carefully poking his fingers around the wound. "You're right, it's caught between two of his ribs." He had to close his eyes for a few seconds and exhale heavily. "Athos…he cheated death."

"I know," Athos replied, inwardly amazed. "We should finish with his clothing before we deal with his wounds."

Porthos nodded. Getting Aramis warm was their main concern.

A few minutes later, Aramis was wearing dry clothes, and heated bricks were under the blankets that were covering him. Porthos took a clean cloth from Aramis' bag of medical supplies and used it to grasp the ball and yank it free. Once that was done, Athos quickly stitched the wound and they covered Aramis up.

"Should we wait until he's warm before we deal with his arm?" Porthos asked.

Athos knew why Porthos was _really_ asking that question; the ball had gone _through_ Aramis' arm…only someone with the very best luck would escape amputation in a situation like that, as the ball would've shattered the bone. Porthos was afraid to know the extent of the wound…and Athos had to admit that he was too. He sighed. "No, I'm sure that it needs stitching."

Porthos nodded, steeling himself as he reached to undo the bandage.

Athos found that he was practically holding his breath as their friend's arm was uncovered, and he let it out when he saw that the arm looked normal aside from the blood and two holes in it.

Porthos inhaled sharply as he carefully felt Aramis' arm. "I think it missed the bone. What are the chances!"

Athos had only one answer. "It's Aramis."

Porthos chuckled, shaking his head in wonder.

Athos stitched the wounds and they piled every extra blanket they could find in the room on top of their friend, and the innkeeper came back soon after with a pot of broth and three cups.

"How is your friend? Will he live?" he asked.

"His injuries aren't fatal, so as long as we can warm him up fast enough…" said Porthos, taking the pot and setting it down on the nightstand.

"That's good to hear," said the man. "I will send up some food."

"Thank you," said Athos, before taking some coins out of his pouch and handing them to him.

The innkeeper was surprised at the amount, and he gave Athos a bow and hurried back out.

After filling one of the cups with the broth, Porthos sat on the side of the bed and pulled Aramis up a little, leaning him against him as he placed the cup to his lips. "I know you can't hear me, Aramis, but you gotta drink this, all right?" he said, tipping the cup slightly.

They were relieved to see that Aramis automatically swallowed; it was always a wonder to see an unconscious person do that. Patiently, Porthos slowly tried to get the whole cup into him, and eventually managed to succeed. He laid Aramis down carefully again and they both just watched him for a few minutes.

"We could've lost him," Porthos said, not bothering to hide the emotion that filled his voice. "If we'd taken anymore time to find him."

Athos put the back of his hand against the side of Aramis' face, and had to fight a shiver at the feel of his cold skin. _We still might,_ he thought.

The innkeeper came back a few minutes later with a tray of food and some more bricks, which he placed into the fire. "Anything else you need?"

"More blankets," Porthos told him.

The innkeeper complied, likely taking all of the blankets out of the empty rooms.

The two Musketeers piled them on top of Aramis and added the extra bricks under his covers before changing out of their own wet clothes and eating the food that they'd been brought. The hot stew and broth did wonders for their own cold bodies, and they managed to get another cup of broth into Aramis.

The wind continued to blow outside, and neither of them could get out of their minds the sight of Aramis lying wounded and unconscious in the snow...it brought back bad memories.

"You think this'll give him more nightmares of Savoy?" Porthos asked.

Athos sighed. "I hope not."

Four or five more hours passed before Aramis showed signs of life. Athos was just about to try to gauge Aramis' temperature again when their unconscious friend suddenly made a soft noise.

Porthos sat on the other side of the bed and put his hand on the side of Aramis' face. He'd warmed up in all that time, but his skin still felt chilled. "Hey," he said. "Open your eyes, Aramis."

Their injured friend moved his head a little, but didn't otherwise react.

"Aramis," Porthos repeated. He tapped his face gently. "Aramis?"

Aramis made another soft noise and shivered.

Athos went over to the fire, where some of the bricks were heating up again. He grabbed the fireplace tongs and started taking them out, sticking them back under the covers and removing the others to reheat again.

Aramis hadn't reacted further, laying there quietly with his eyes still closed, breathing softly and occasionally shivering.

Porthos remained sitting on the bed, hand on his friend's shoulder as he waited for Aramis to grow more responsive.

Athos finished with the bricks and reached over to where Aramis' jacket hung on a chair before the fire. He grabbed it to move it away before the leather got burned, and frowned when he felt something in the inside pocket. Remembering the missive, he took it out to find it dirty and wet. "How did _this_ happen?" he said.

Porthos turned his head to see. "I dunno," he answered.

"They tried...to steal it."

Athos and Porthos looked at Aramis, to see that his eyes were open.

Porthos smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "About time you woke up," he said. "How do you feel?"

Aramis blinked his eyes drowsily. "Been better," he actually admitted, with a wince.

When Aramis said something like that, they knew that he felt truly awful. Aramis had the gift of understatement when he was injured or ill.

"Just rest," Porthos said, struck by the fact that Aramis hadn't said 'fine' for once.

Aramis closed his eyes with a sigh. He shivered again and shifted slightly, before sucking in a pained gasp.

Porthos grabbed his shoulders. "The word 'rest' means to lie down and not move."

Aramis held his breath as pain throbbed through his arm and his side, before letting it out and reopening his eyes. "The ball?"

It was obvious that he was asking where it was. "It was caught between two of your ribs," Porthos told him. "You were very, _very_ lucky."

Aramis nodded, closing his eyes again.

Athos held back his questions as they spoke, in deference to the state of their injured friend. He could see that Aramis was weak, which wasn't surprising after losing a lot of blood and being frozen half to death.

Aramis was quiet for a minute, before he said, "Yes, Athos?" without opening his eyes.

One corner of Athos' mouth lifted in a slight grin, and he came closer and sat on the other side of the bed. "Are you strong enough to talk?"

Aramis nodded, eyes still closed.

Athos wasn't sure if it was true, but he asked anyway, "You said they tried to steal the missive? They attacked us solely to obtain it?"

Aramis nodded. "Knocked me off my horse…grabbed it before I could blink…"

Athos nodded, even though Aramis couldn't see him with his eyes closed.

"I went after him…got it back…and he shot me."

Porthos sighed.

Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder. "Well done." He paused. "Getting it back, _not_ getting shot."

Aramis opened his eyes and smiled.

Porthos went over to the fire where the pot of broth had been placed to keep it warm, and he filled a cup and brought it back. "Time for your medicine," he said.

Aramis looked at him, puzzled, until he realized what he held, and he tried to shift his position again, with another wince.

Porthos put the cup down on the table beside the bed and helped Aramis recline upright a little against the pillows. He tucked the blankets around his friend's shoulders and didn't let him pull his right arm out to take the cup.

Aramis submitted; he was too tired _not_ to.

Athos watched as Porthos carefully helped Aramis drink the broth.

"Too hot?" Porthos asked after giving him a sip.

Aramis shook his head.

Porthos tipped the cup a little more, slowly feeding it to him.

Aramis made a sound of delight as the heat made its way through his chest and into his stomach.

Porthos couldn't help but grin.

Athos headed towards the fire, looking into the pot of broth and finding it low. "I'll ask for more," he said. As he walked towards the door, there was a knock, and he opened it to find the innkeeper standing there holding a pot.

"I came with more," he told Athos, as if he'd read his mind. With the amount of money Athos had given him, the man planned to remain at their beck and call. "He's awake!"

Athos nodded and glanced behind himself as Porthos fussed with the blankets covering their friend. "Yes, he is," he said, taking the pot. "Thank you."

The innkeeper nodded, relieved that he apparently _wasn't_ going to have someone die in his inn. "Can he eat? I'll send some more stew."

"That would be welcome," Athos said.

The innkeeper nodded and dashed off.

Athos put the pot on the fire, taking the other one over to the bed and pouring what remained into Aramis' cup.

Aramis' eyes were closed and he looked exhausted.

Athos touched his arm. "Stay awake, food is coming."

Aramis opened his eyes and tiredly looked at them, before shifting slightly and failing to hold back a wince. "Either of you...wounded?" he asked, yawning in between.

"Nah, 'course not," said Porthos.

"It took us so long to find you because neither of us saw where you had gone," Athos told him.

"I had to go after him," Aramis said.

Porthos nodded. "We know." He wondered what the missive said that caused people to want to prevent it from reaching the king.

The innkeeper quickly returned, and Porthos insisted on feeding Aramis so he could remain covered by the blankets. They'd had to feed each other several times over the years due to injuries or illness, so Aramis was used to it and made no protest. The slightest movement made him shiver and sent pain through his body, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.

Porthos held the spoon before Aramis' face, waiting for him to open his eyes after the fifth time that Aramis had closed them.

"Aramis?" said Athos.

Aramis moved his head slightly, but didn't otherwise respond.

Athos leaned over to look into the bowl that Porthos held. Less than half of it was gone. "He hasn't eaten enough," he remarked, before placing his hand on top of the blankets where he knew their friend's good arm to be. "Aramis, wake up."

Aramis made a soft noise.

"You need to finish your food," Athos said, reaching over with his other hand and gently tapping his face.

Aramis sleepily opened his eyes. "No reason to hit me," he said, his voice sleepily slurred.

Porthos popped the spoon into Aramis' mouth before he even had a chance to blink. It took a few seconds for Aramis to start chewing, as if he was too half-asleep for his brain to catch up. He only lasted for three more bites and a little more broth before falling back to sleep and refusing to wake.

Athos and Porthos ate, and prepared to sleep themselves. "Share his bed," Athos said. "It'll keep him warmer."

Porthos nodded, already planning to.

Athos slept in the room's other bed, but he didn't sleep very well, often waking to ensure that Aramis was all right. Porthos woke frequently himself, but all he needed to hear was Aramis' soft breathing, he didn't have to get out of bed to check on him like Athos did.

Aramis slept through most of the night, his body desperately needing the rest. Pain half-woke him a few times, but he always fell back to sleep quickly.

Early the next morning, a sudden groan filled the air and Athos quickly got up and went over to the bed, finding that Porthos was awake too. "Is he all right?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Porthos said. He was lying on his side facing Aramis, and had propped himself up with one arm to look at their wounded friend.

Aramis was breathing faster than normal, but he showed no other signs of being awake.

When a few minutes passed with no other reaction from Aramis, Athos left to get food and more broth. When he returned, Porthos had gotten up and was sitting on the side of the bed watching their friend.

Porthos gestured towards the window. "It looks warmer out there today."

Athos went over to the window and looked out. The sun was shining and there was no wind. He wondered if they should leave for Paris or remain where they were for the day.

"Aramis isn't fit to go anywhere," Porthos said, as if reading his mind.

Athos sighed. "I know, but you heard the king." Louis had told them that the missive was of the utmost importance and he needed then to return with it immediately.

Porthos nodded, echoing the sigh.

A few moments later, Aramis suddenly moved and sucked in his breath with a wince.

"Hey," Porthos said, putting a hand on his arm. "No movin'."

Aramis opened his eyes. "Morning?" he asked, with another wince.

"Indeed," Athos answered. "How are you feeling?"

Aramis took a few seconds to assess himself. "My mind is clearer."

The other two could see that. Aramis' eyes were fully open and he looked more like himself, if a very pale version of it.

"The pain?" Athos asked.

"Bearable," Aramis answered.

"Bearable if you stay completely still, you mean," Porthos said.

Aramis smiled slightly; they knew him well. He yawned and closed his eyes.

Athos used the back of his hand to feel the skin on Aramis' face. "You are still cold," he stated.

"Normal, after losing so much blood," Aramis sleepily told him. "I'd be cold even if the weather was warm."

"Well this'll help," said Porthos, ladling some broth into a cup.

Aramis reopened his eyes and tried to pull himself into a more upright position. His entire body was stiff and the pain from his gunshot wounds flared, making him squeeze his eyes shut with a groan. He felt hands help him shift, and he remained still for a moment, breathing heavily.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he reopened his eyes, letting out a ragged breath. "The ride back won't be pleasant later," Aramis remarked, his voice sounding rough.

"Later?" said Porthos.

"The king expects us," Aramis said, blinking tiredly as he accepted the cup of broth and slowly drank it. "We're only a few hours away from Paris."

"A few hours at a faster pace than what you're capable of right now," Porthos said. Aramis wasn't fit for galloping by any means.

"What's the weather?" Aramis asked.

"Sun, no wind," said Athos.

"We should take advantage of it," Aramis said.

Athos knew that he was right. Who knew how soon it would snow again?

After feeding Aramis more food than he could possibly eat, Athos and Porthos changed his bandages and filled the canteens with the hot broth.

When it came time to get Aramis on his feet, it was obvious that he was weak and in pain. They helped him stand, with Porthos on his uninjured side so the exceptionally-strong musketeer could catch Aramis without hurting him if he lost his balance.

The walls seemed to tip as dizziness overcame the wounded musketeer, and Aramis found himself leaning his full weight against Porthos, who was holding him tightly.

"Easy does it," Porthos said. "You're okay, you're okay." From the sound of his worried voice, he seemed to be trying to reassure himself as well. He tightened the grip around his friend's back, making sure that his hand wasn't too close to the wound in his side.

Athos stood by, unable to help since he couldn't touch Aramis' left arm, which was supported in a sling. He simply watched the pale face of their friend as Aramis breathed heavily, eyes closed, head resting against Porthos' shoulder.

It was a full minute before Aramis reopened his eyes, blinking tiredly. He wanted nothing more than to lie down again, but he tried to straighten up instead, wincing at the pain.

"I could—"

"No," Aramis said to Athos, knowing what he was going to say. "We aren't staying here while you go deliver the message yourself."

Athos wasn't surprised at all when Aramis seemingly read his mind.

"What if something happened to you along the way? _You_ 'd be the one to freeze to death," said Aramis. He found some extra strength somewhere and managed to straighten up. "I'll be fine."

Athos and Porthos looked at each other. There was no talking Aramis out of something when he was being stubborn.

Athos nodded. "Come, then."

A few minutes later, they were heading out the door, with Athos carrying their saddlebags.

The cold air was a shock after the pleasant heat of their rented room, and Aramis sucked in a breath and shivered. He was wearing extra clothes as well as his cloak, hat, and gloves, and Porthos had said that it wasn't enough. Athos had agreed, and Aramis wondered what they were planning.

Once inside the stable, Porthos sat Aramis down on a bale of hay and he and Athos saddled the horses.

Getting Aramis mounted was difficult but they managed, with Aramis failing to hide how painful it was. He sat stiffly in the saddle, gripping the saddle horn in a death grip.

Porthos held him steady until Aramis had regained control, and then he mounted himself and pulled his horse next to his friend's, reaching for his saddlebag and pulling his blanket out before wrapping it around Aramis.

"Porthos..." Aramis said.

"Quiet," Porthos said. "I won't need it, but you do."

"I have my own," Aramis said.

"You'll likely need _both_ ," Porthos said, feeling Aramis shivering through the cloth.

Athos came up on Aramis' other side with his own blanket, and they got that one around him too. Athos then took the reins of Aramis' horse so he could keep his arms inside the blankets. "Tell us if you need to stop," he commanded.

"All right," Aramis agreed. What else could he say?

With that, they were off riding towards home.

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Time passed slowly as they rode. Aramis was quiet, which wasn't surprising as he dealt with the pain and frequent lightheadeness. The blankets that his friends had loaned him were a help, but he still shivered despite them.

Athos and Porthos saw every twitch and wince that came from their wounded friend, and tried to draw him into a conversation to distract him.

"I can't believe that Christmas is coming," Porthos said.

Athos went, "Hmm," in reply. "This year has certainly passed quickly."

"Whatcha gonna get me, Aramis?" Porthos asked. "I know I'm your _favorite_ person!"

Aramis' eyes were closed, and without opening them, he replied, "A case."

Porthos' eyebrows went up. "For what?"

"To carry your ego in," Aramis answered.

Athos laughed.

Aramis opened his eyes and smiled. Athos didn't laugh often, so when he did, it was a sight to behold.

"Oh, ha ha ha," Porthos replied, sarcastically. He was smiling too. "Well I'm gettin' _you_ a hat to replace that one."

Aramis frowned. "What's wrong with my hat?"

Porthos shot a grin at Athos; everyone knew how much Aramis loved his hat. "Eh, I just don't like it."

It took several seconds for Aramis to realize that he was joking...and it wasn't lost on the other two that Aramis was obviously not thinking completely clearly. "You're so amusing," he told Porthos, sarcastically.

"That's what they tell me!" Porthos replied.

A gust of wind came from behind them, and Athos turned, his heart seeming to seize in his chest when he saw dark, heavy clouds filling the sky. The sun was still overhead, but it wouldn't be for much longer.

Porthos saw Athos' expression and turned to see what he was looking at. He shot Athos a look of concern before looking at Aramis, whose eyes were closed again.

 _Say nothing,_ Athos mouthed to him. Snow was the _last_ thing Aramis needed was to worry about.

It didn't take long for the clouds to overcome them, and soon, flakes started to fall.

Aramis' eyes were still closed and he was visibly drooping where he sat, in pain, exhausted, and cold. His discomfort was keeping him awake, which was good, considering that he was on a moving horse. He didn't even know yet that it was snowing.

The flakes didn't fall heavily at first, but by the time they could see Paris in the distance, the snow was coming down hard and all three of them were wet. They'd wrapped the third blanket around Aramis—having kept it dry in the saddlebags for this very reason—and Athos made Porthos take Aramis straight to the garrison while he went to the palace alone with the missive.

"Ah, Athos!" the king exclaimed, striding over. "I was wondering when you would return. Where are the others?" He took the missive and frowned when he found it wet and dirty. "What is the meaning of this?"

"A group of men tried to steal it from us and Aramis was shot, Your Majesty," Athos told him. "I had Porthos take him back to the garrison."

The king looked at him. "Shot? Over a tree?"

Athos blinked. "A tree?"

The king nodded, quickly reading the missive. "This is in answer to my query of when the palace Christmas tree will arrive. On Wednesday! Only five days from now! How marvelous!"

Athos just stared. "I don't understand. Why was Aramis shot over a tree?"

The king sighed. "Apparently there is a land dispute. Two neighbors can't decide on where their border is and this particular tree is being claimed by both of them. Your attackers were likely from the other neighbor who wants the tree too."

Athos was speechless. Aramis had been shot because of a _tree_?!

Louis suddenly noticed that Athos was all wet. "Is it snowing out there? Off with you, can't have you catching cold, now!"

Catching cold? Aramis had been shot. _Three times._

Athos gave Louis a slight bow and left, wondering how on earth he was going to tell Aramis why he had three new scars to look forward to.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Porthos looked towards the door when Athos came into the room.

"How is he?" Athos whispered, standing beside the bed and looking down at the sleeping Aramis.

"All right, considerin'. He was out the second his head hit the pillow," Porthos told him.

Athos wasn't surprised.

"I don't suppose you found out what that missive said?" Porthos asked.

Athos was quiet for a few seconds. "I did."

"Was it worth Aramis chasin' after it and gettin' shot?"

Athos shook his head. "By _no_ means." He told Porthos about his conversation with the king, and Porthos just stared for a moment, much the same as Athos had.

"You aren't serious," he eventually said.

"I wish I weren't," Athos told him, sitting down in a chair beside him.

"But he...Aramis almost...because of a...!" Porthos could do nothing but sputter, in shock.

Before either of them could say anything else, Aramis suddenly shifted with a groan.

Porthos immediately put a hand on his shoulder. "Stay still, Aramis," he said. He wondered if they'd woken him up, and glanced at Athos.

"What happened?" Aramis mumbled sleepily, blinking his eyes.

"We're home," Porthos told him. Aramis had been barely conscious when they'd arrived, and they weren't surprised that their wounded friend was confused.

"What'd the king say?" Aramis asked, closing his eyes again.

Neither Porthos or Athos were sure what to tell him.

Aramis reopened his eyes. "His tree."

Porthos sighed. "We didn't mean to break it to ya that way."

"What d'ya mean?" Aramis mumbled.

"You just heard us talking," said Athos.

Aramis shook his head. "I read the missive."

Athos and Porthos were stunned. "You what?!" Porthos said.

"The seal was broken when I retrieved it from the thief," Aramis told them, sounding more awake. He opened his eyes. "While I was bleeding and freezing to death I wasn't thinking clearly, and read it."

Everyone was quiet for a minute.

"How do you feel about almost being killed over a tree?" Porthos asked.

"Tired," Aramis answered. He yawned and shivered despite the roaring fire. "I'm sure we'll all laugh about this some day. Goodnight."

They were both surprised at the calm answer, but replied, "Goodnight."

Aramis fell back to sleep, and Porthos and Athos looked at each other.

Porthos shrugged. "Looks like he'll be fine, but Athos?"

"Yes?"

"If you don't want me to be hanged, keep me away from the king if I get drunk during the palace Christmas Eve party."

Athos sighed as he watched the pale face of their friend as Aramis slept. "Likewise."

THE END


End file.
